


help me hold on to you

by faaulkner



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Multi, Panic Attacks, Parent Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faaulkner/pseuds/faaulkner
Summary: A series of Saw ficlets that started out as tumblr prompts and will hopefully grow as I see inspiration. Mostly Adam and Lawrence, but Lynn and Amanda will be hanging out there too.
Relationships: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon, Lynn Denlon/Amanda Young
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	1. things you said under the stars and in the grass (adam/lawrence, high school au)

**Author's Note:**

> Count on half-baked motivation and pure spite to get me actually WRITING and POSTING on here again. Hi, y'all.
> 
> Title courtesy of The Archer by Taylor Swift.

They’ve gone through more than half the bottle of whiskey between them, more than either are accustomed to downing even on their worst days. Adam can feel it, too, in the sudden heaviness of his tongue in his mouth and the warm thrum of his blood that does little ease the chill of the park at three AM. He doesn’t slow down, though, even when Lawrence begins to decline every time he offers the bottle to him. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t keep his lips wrapped firmly around the glass he’ll say things he won’t be able to take back.

Unbidden, Adam remembers the first time they’d done this, the way Lawrence had grimaced like a small child upon his first sip. Adam had laughed right in his face, said, “You’re gonna be a pro by the time I’m done with you.” It’d sounded like a filthy double entendre even then, and they’d snickered until their mouths had found better things to do.

He hides his smile in the Lawrence of now’s chest. It only feels inappropriate. Not that it lasts long, anyway.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” he asks. It’s not the first time he’s done it, in the last twenty-four hours even. It’s like if he can speak casually enough about the truth he can finally accept it.

“I have to check in to my dorm between ten and twelve, but my parents want me there early. So around eight.” Lawrence is nothing but patient with his response. His arm must be beyond asleep at this point, what with Adam laying on it the way he is, but he hasn’t made a peep of complaint.

Adam nods. Just like all the other times he’s asked, he doesn’t feel any comforted afterwards. He also doesn’t mention the fact said leaving time is only mere hours away.

“Are you scared?”

Lawrence sighs. “Not scared, no. Maybe nervous. Everyone here tells me how smart I am, how well I’m going to do, but that’s just here. Where I’m going _everyone’s_ also been told that, and now it’s up to us to figure out who’s been lied to.” A pause. “Well. Maybe I am scared.”

That does it for Adam. He rolls over on top of Lawrence, his movements made sluggish and awkward by his addled state. But he’s accepted immediately, Lawrence’s legs shifting wider to cradle him and his hands going right to Adam’s hair. Lawrence has always loved his hair.

He’s lost count of how many times they’ve found themselves in this exact position, but Adam doesn’t even think of that now. Not now, not tonight.

“You _are_ smart. Like, the smartest fucking person I’ve ever met. Way smarter than me, anyway.” Adam laughs, and Lawrence’s chest rumbles beneath him with matching breaths. “But that’s not even it. You shouldn’t be scared because you’ve got more in you, more fucking - soul or whatever, than half those robots will. You’re-”

And he has to cut himself off then, looking down at him. His golden boy, gazing up at Adam like he’s everything. _You’re perfect_ , he wants to say. _I’m pretty sure you saved my life this year,_ he wants to say.

 _Please don’t go_ , he wants to say.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” is what comes out instead. Just fine, without Adam. His voice doesn’t crack on the last word, but it’s a close call.

Lawrence’s plush mouth purses and trembles, the way it does when he wants to say something but won’t. He seems to swallow a lump in his throat, hand moving to rest against Adam’s cheek.

“I hope so,” he whispers.

Adam hides his face in Lawrence’s neck, and they stay that way. They don’t speak again until the first tendrils of dawn creep into the sky.


	2. things you said with no space between us (amanda/lynn)

Amanda can feel awareness sinking into her body, uncaring of her wish for more sleep as always. Lynn’s awake too, if the hand idly stroking her stomach beneath her t shirt is anything to go by. The touch no doubt started out innocent enough, but now there’s a hint of nails on every other upstroke, something almost possessive in it. It’s got Amanda feeling like a contented cat, lounging in the best sunbeam she could find in the house and not feeling quite up to moving ever, thank you.

But because she can, Amanda arches her back, circles her hips until she’s all but grinding her ass into the join of Lynn’s legs. She hears a soft gasp in her ear, followed by a questioning murmur, soft and adoring. The hand leaves its post on her stomach only to fly to her hip. Though not to stop, but to guide, easing her rhythm into something gentler. It does nothing to soothe either of them, though.

And all at once, Lynn is pressing a kiss into the juncture of her neck, moving up until she’s breathing hotly in her ear, and Amanda thinks that they’ve both just woken up and _already_ she feels like she’s on fire, like it’s all too much, until -

“I love you.”

Amanda ceases her movements. To say she completely freezes, honestly, would be an understatement. The words were rushed, gasping and desperate as if Lynn couldn’t help them, but Amanda knows what she heard. She can feel Lynn behind her, gone still behind her in response to her own stillness. The only movement coming from her is that same hand, still on Amanda’s hip and stroking circles into her skin with her thumb.

“I-I know we said things weren’t going to end up like this. And it’s unfair of me to just…put it on you. But I do. You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know.”

Amanda still hasn’t even begun to think of a response. Her mind has gone from hazy with sleep to hazy with arousal to _this_ , and it fumbles to keep up.

Lynn’s right: they _hadn’t_ ever intended for things to go this far. It’d been so easy at first, meeting at odd hours for little else but the feeling of each other’s skin. But then Amanda would find herself at Lynn’s apartment more and more, and Lynn would surprise her at the bar with that _smile_ on her face. With every snarky text and shared takeout container Amanda could feel it creeping in, that desperate need she’d thought she’d long stamped out of herself. She’d imagine a perfect world in which she could say those words without wanting to hide away or hurt herself. Never did she think they’d be returned if she did, though.

She should have remembered that Lynn loves to shatter her expectations.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Lynn repeats, and Amanda knows she means it. But you’d have to be oblivious to not hear the quiet catch in her voice, the pure _want_ it just barely hides. By now she’s propped herself up to run her fingers through Amanda’s hair, stroking it back. Because Lynn is always so comforting, so _understanding_ to her, even now, and it’s more than Amanda has ever deserved.

She turns her face into her pillow, unable to accept even this.

“Lynn…”

Lynn begins to sit up, to run away to lick her wounds. “I’ll go make some coffee.”

“Wait.”

Amanda’s gripped her hand before she can even leave the bed. For the first time that morning she turns to her, crawling up and over until she’s planted herself in Lynn’s lap, knees on either side of her hips. Arms around her neck. There’s nothing but their sleep clothes between them, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. She thinks burrowing into Lynn’s chest wouldn’t be enough. She can feel both of their heartbeats, pounding next to the other in near tandem.

“I can’t say it back,” Amanda says. Her words are babbling and near incoherent, spoken directly into Lynn’s neck because that’s the only way they _can_ be spoken. “But I do. I do. I’m sorry. I do.”

There’s a hushed moment, filled only with the sounds of their breathing, when Amanda thinks that it’s too late. She’s already gone and fucked this up. But then Lynn’s arms wrap around her shoulders, squeezing her even tighter until it really _does_ feel like she’s about to crack into her chest. It’s too desperate, like they’re standing on the edge on a cliff with their lives on the line and not tangled in the sheets on a late Saturday morning.

The two don’t feel all that different to Amanda.

But then, Lynn saves her with two words.

“I know.”


	3. things you said when i was crying (adam/lawrence)

Adam is hunched over the dishes when Lawrence decides to make his attack. A harsh word for such a delicate subject, but at this point he can’t think of any other way to phrase it. It’s been nearly a week since the funeral, since Adam had to be talked into actually going through his mother’s things instead of saying to hell with it and throwing it all away, and Lawrence doesn’t know how much more of this either of them can take.

“Adam…”

Adam turns his head towards him, briefly, before resuming his scrubbing.

“Why don’t you let me finish up with those?” Lawrence asks.

Adam sighs. “Why? I always do the dishes.”

“I know, but let me tonight. Why don’t you just go sit down, and I can join you after?” He tries so very hard to not fall into that placating tone he once used with patients.

Adam, of course, can tell this. He snorts derisively. “I’m not delicate. I think I can handle some fucking cups and plates.”

“I never said you were, but-”

There’s a clatter as Adam tosses whatever utensil he’d been washing back into the sink. He turns to face Lawrence fully, his face contorted with something like betrayal. It’s the most emotion Lawrence has seen on it since he got that first phone call.

“You think I can’t see you walking around on eggshells around me? Like I’m going to fall apart or something if you use the wrong _tone_ with me? I’m _fine_ , Lawrence. You’re worried I’m not coping the right way or whatever, that’s on you. But I’m just doing it _my_ way.”

Lawrence has to fight to not raise his voice, hackles raised at Adam’s tone.

“I’m just worried about you, Adam. Your mother is dead and I haven’t even seen you _react_ to it yet.”

“I just told you, I’m reacting _my_ way.”

“But what if your way isn’t good for you?” A pause, as he considers the wiseness of his next words but then barrels on anyway. “Look I know your relationship was complicated-”

“God, that’s what just gets me about you.” The declaration is made rough and shaky with a laugh, but Adam couldn’t look further from amused. He runs his damp hands through his hair, his eyes wide with disbelief and the beginnings of something else. “You can always take the ugliest, most fucked up things and describe them with words like _complicated_. Like you can make them better that way. It’s a doctor thing, isn’t it?”

If this were any other argument Lawrence would have risen to the fighting words. But seeing how close Adam is to the tipping point, how badly he messed up in choosing to broach this now, he can feel the frustration drain out of him.

“I’d say more of a caring about you thing,” he mutters, and it’s like he’s flipped a switch in the conversation.

Adam nods, as if resigning himself to something, and now there really are tears in his eyes. He turns back to brace his hands on the counter, as if that will hide the sudden heaving of his shoulders, the telltale sniff he occasionally gives. Despite all the ways they’ve seen each other, the ugly darkness of their very beginning, Adam still can’t bear for Lawrence to see him cry.

Lawrence presses a gentle hand to his shoulder, does the same with his other one when the touch isn’t immediately shaken off. “I know you might have been angry with her, at one time. But you shouldn’t have to hang on to that anymore.”

“I know you literally go through people’s brains for a living, but that doesn’t make you some kind of therapist.”

There’s an ugly pause after that. Adam seems to regret his words when it’s gone for too long. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“I know.”

They remain silent for a moment, and Lawrence decides to act then. He pulls Adam back towards his chest, wrapping his arms around him in that almost trapping way that Adam likes but won’t admit to liking. Things already feel better, this way. They feel like he can actually breathe.

“We don’t have to talk about her if you want. But I want you to know that that is always an option for you. You’re my partner, Adam. My significant other. It’s my job to make sure you’re at the very least alright.”

“I guess I still forget that, sometimes,” Adam says. He sounds more than a little rueful, but it’s better than shattered.

“Do me a favor,” Lawrence murmurs into his temple.

Adam huffs a single, humorless laugh. “What.”

“Tell me your favorite thing about her.”

That stops Adam short, his whole body jerking as if in defense from something. He relaxes in stages, though, unable to help it as he considers Lawrence’s request. Lawrence is nothing but patient, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around him and pressing his lips to the crown of his head. Acting as more of a grounder than anything.

“She loved ABBA,” he says, smiling as if divulging some long held secret. “I feel like that’s a cliché somehow, but she did. I remember one time, heh, Super Trouper came on this shitty old radio we had and she just. Dropped whatever she was doing and pulled me over and started dancing with me, right in the kitchen. I couldn’t have been older than six. And I’m sure it wasn’t that great, but y’know how you see things differently when you’re a kid. But she sang the whole thing right to me and she had the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard…”

Adam carries on like that, head leaned back on Lawrence’s shoulder and his hands still covered in suds. Not healed, but safe. Protected in Lawrence’s arms. And if the occasional tear still runs inconspicuously down his cheek as he talks, Lawrence says nothing of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old-as-fuck headcanons about Adam's family life from conversations I used to have with a person I don't even talk to anymore? Hinted at in MY ficlet? It's more likely than you think.


	4. things you said when you were scared (adam/lawrence)

It’s a cruel irony, Adam thinks, that of all the things to be playing right now it’s currently _Meat Loaf_ crooning his way through the grocery store loud speaker. He hates this place. Always has. The entire staff seems to look down its nose at him the few times he steps inside, and since when has a goddamn grocery store needed a full fledged wine bar? 

But Lawrence, of course, absolutely loves it here; particularly loves the specific and expensive brand of organic oatmeal that is only found on these shelves. Adam had had some free time and figured he’d surprise him, knowing that Lawrence has been feeling on edge lately. He unconsciously straightens his clothes as he heads to the correct aisle, and begins to regret that decision just a bit. 

_And I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that._

Adam wants to ponder the rapidly dwindling list of things he wouldn’t do for Lawrence, but he’s interrupted but his cell phone ringing. Speak of the devil.

“Hey,” Adam greets. “What’s up?”

“Adam, hi.” Instantly Adam’s ears are piqued at the sound of Lawrence’s voice, frazzled and a good octave or so higher than usual. “Nothing’s going on, I was just. Calling to check up on you.”

Adam slows his walk. Something nags at him, until he realizes just what it is. It’s half past noon, the middle of Lawrence’s busy work day, and definitely not a time for him to be dropping everything and calling Adam like this. 

“Lawrence, is something going on?”

There’s a choked silence at that, as if Lawrence is debating on lying even after he’s been found out, then: “I’m not okay, Adam.”

Adam’s heart drops. He turns from the labels in front of him, the better to focus his everything on his boyfriend’s voice. “What is it? What happened?”

“It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, really. I was just going to my car, to get some papers I’d left in there. And I was walking through the parking garage, and suddenly all I could see was- it- it doesn’t even look like how it did that night, but…”

Adam doesn’t need any more explanation. He can already guess how Lawrence was walking through the brightly lit garage, only to turn the corner and see nothing but darkness. See that _thing_ in a pig mask, sweeping up towards him like something out of a nightmare. 

“Shit. Okay. Where are you now? Did you get out of there?”

“I’m outside the garage, sitting on a bench. There’s cars driving by and people walking past. I probably look like an idiot.”

“Who gives a shit what they think. Listen, Lawrence, I need you to just breathe. Breathe for me, okay?” He sounds like the worst possible cliche, the kind he makes a face at whenever Lawrence does the same for him when he gets like this. But he’s at a loss, miles away and not able to properly comfort him. He’s never felt so useless. 

Lawrence seems to be listening to him though, his breathing rattling through the phone’s receiver. Shaky, but loud and clear.

“Good, baby. Just like that. You’re okay.”

“Adam…”

“I’m here.”

It dawns on Adam just _where_ he is, for a moment, the sounds of the store rushing in around him. Mainly because there’s a middle-aged woman looking at him with an expression that’s better suited for a police interrogation, gesturing impatiently at an item behind him. Adam returns her glare and takes an exaggerated step to the side. He yearns to do more, but he’s brought back to Lawrence’s voice in his ear. 

“Tell me something,” he’s demanding. “Tell me what you’re doing right now.”

Adam barks a laugh. He can’t help it. “Honestly? I’m at that pretentious grocery store you love so much, buying you your special oatmeal because I fucking love you.”

Another silence, but this one is more stunned, and Adam wants to bet that Lawrence is making that flabbergasted expression of his that makes his eyes go all wide. 

His next words make Adam’s heart flip again for entirely different reasons. 

“You’re so good to me.”

Adam’s knee jerk reaction is of course to deny it, because no, he doesn’t think he is most of the time. But then he considers. And yes, he _is_ in a store that he hates, surrounded by people who make him uncomfortable, all for the sake of his boyfriend whom he’s currently talking down from a panic attack over the phone. 

Perhaps he is good to Lawrence, but that’s only because Lawrence is so good to him, makes him feel safe and cherished and important, and he just wants desperately to return the favor. It occurs to Adam that this is phenomenon is what most would call a healthy, mutual romantic relationship. 

“Yeah, well,” Adam mumbles, voice gone weak with the weight of his epiphany. “Someone’s gotta be around here.”

There’s a watery chuckle from Lawrence’s end, and Adam can tell from it that his breathing is slightly more even. 

“Listen, just head back to your office when you’re able to. I’m on my way now.”

“Adam, you don’t have to-“

“No, but I’m going to.”

“I’m fine. Or, I’ll be fine, I swear. I just needed to hear your voice.”

Lawrence still sounds frail enough that Adam doubts him, knows that he still struggles with acknowledging even to himself when he needs to take it easy. But that last sentence has him softening like melting butter, enough that he’s giving in to trusting him this time. 

“Hey…no need to get like that,” he teases. “Just, just go back to your office, and I’ll call again as soon as I’m done here, okay? Five minutes tops.”

“Okay…I will.” Beat. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, and Jesus Fucking Christ, that’s twice in one conversation. He really is good to Lawrence.

They hang up, and Adam makes to leave the aisle. He stops short, though, and backs up until he’s almost colliding with the woman who’s no doubt been eavesdropping on the tail end of their conversation. Swipes the box of oatmeal that happens to be on the shelf directly in front of her pinched face. It’d be a damn shame if he ended up forgetting it, after all. 

He heads towards the checkout line like a man with newfound purpose.


End file.
